Ningyo Hime
by Atropos' Knife
Summary: Two dolls. One, an ordinary girl locked in a protective case. The other, a fallen angel who dreams of being whole again. Both try to stay unbroken in a place like Ura Shinjuku. Series of Rena & Natsumi fics, references to manga only canon, non-yuri.


"**Ningyo Hime"**

**Disclaimer:** "GetBackers" and characters are property of Rando Ayamine and Yuya Aoki.

**AN: **I borrowed "Ningyo Hime" (literally, 'doll princess') from the title of the haunting 2nd ED of _"Chobits"_. Thought it was a fitting title to this collection of stories. On a related note, I was also inspired to write this series by **incandescens'** "Warmth," which is the only other Rena-centric GB fanfic I am aware of. So, if by some remote possibility she is reading this, I offer my sincerest thanks. To everyone else, I hope you like. Thanks for dropping by. Cheers!

(The story below is the first in a three-part series)

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_Sempai._ Sendou Rena never considers calling Mizuki Natsumi by any other honorific or name; the waitress who she has come to look up to as a mentor in the art of making coffee, and more importantly, someone she reveres as a sister and friend. Together, they bond over lost loved ones and siblings that were never meant to be, forming a sorority where each fills a void previously occupied by imaginary playmates – and the silent companionship of dolls.

Rena thinks it's wonderful to finally play, talk, laugh with…hold on to…something real.

Yet the girl knows, but doesn't really show, how much more she has lost than Natsumi. How Rena's void is deeper, darker, and in need of the older girl to light it far desperately than the older girl needs Rena to light hers. Natsumi, after all, is like a delicate moth in her talent for seeing flickers of radiance in even the murkiest of places.

She may be two years younger, but Rena watches her seventeen-year-old _sempai_ with the wary, flinty eyes of one who is aged, worn…damaged. And in her pragmatism, she hopes Natsumi's love for light won't ever blind her into getting burned.

Because the fallen angel knows all too well how even the brightest of lights can be consumed by the black hole of darkness.

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_**I. Fragile: Handle with Care  
**_

_Coffee, tea, or… me?_

He imagines the waitress with the long ponytail bending over and mouthing those words to him dripping with syrupy sweet intent.

_You. Most definitely, you._

The man's gaze feigns fixation on the menu, but it is merely cursory, and soon his attention slips as though sliding greasily from the card's laminated surface. After all, he isn't here for any of the scant items listed on it. Not really. For his hunger is piqued by something other than the pangs of his gut…Rather, it comes from a deeper seeded, more primal part of his mind which now throbs with the need to dull those wide, shining eyes; to break the innocent smile behind the never-before-kissed lips before him.

He isn't aware of it, but the man hates that which is beautiful for no other reason than – it just is.

"They say the coffee here is the best in Shinjuku," he drawls lowly, his craving hanging thick in the pauses between each word.

"More like the best in Tokyo, sir," Natsumi chirps proudly.

'I'll have one then."

No _'please'_. It was an order, not a request.

"A cup of Master Paul's house blend coming right up."

The customer nods slightly in acknowledgement as he hands the menu back to the waitress. His fingers 'accidentally' graze hers in the exchange and he proceeds to gauge for a shift in that too-perfect smile. Not surprisingly, it holds. And he answers with a small, sly smile of his own.

Because hers is the fragility he's looking for. Either she's too polite and refined to react, or her skin is much too unsullied to know the nuances of touch.

Rena flinches from a few feet away, the hairs on the back of her neck raised.

But _she_ knows.

As Natsumi turns her back on the man to start preparing the brew, Rena becomes mindful of the calculated gaze behind the razor glint reflecting off his glasses…the rapid rise and fall of breaths…the pheromone stench of sweat beading on temples in thrilled anticipation of the hunt.

She notices how the man's lids droop in slow ecstasy, the open half of his eyes leering at the lift of Natsumi's short school skirt as she reaches up for the coffee container. Rena is loath to think what he is imagining doing to her under the hidden half as well.

She shudders.

Rena can almost hear the lurid whispering going on in his mind right now, debates about how best to make the unwitting student fall helplessly – first, mind; then body, and finally, soul – under his control.

The young girl with the fidgety eyes narrows her stare and clenches her fists seethingly. Her body is no stranger to those looks and subtle obscenities. She knows what it's like to figuratively—and literally—be enslaved beneath their spell. A spell that led her to dabble into more dangerous, consuming curses and spells…

Leaving nothing but a plastic shell of her former self.

And in no way does Rena want to see even a hint of that cast on Natsumi – who has everything in a girl worth protecting.

With a newfound resolved spring in her usually timid step, she acts.

"_Sempai_, Master wants me to take inventory of the canned goods in the pantry and note the ones nearing their expiration dates," Rena murmurs, holding onto the older girl's sleeve. "But I'm still not sure where everything is –"

Natsumi giggles as she starts the water on a boil, laughing endearingly like one laughs at a clumsy child. "No problem. I'll help you just as soon as I finish with –" She feels a persistent tug. The high school senior turns and catches the determined fire in her _kouhai's_ dark eyes, one she mistakes for eager enthusiasm.

Natsumi misreads Rena's intentions, but understands her need. "Ah, I see," she sing-songs with a wink and grin. The canister of coffee switches hands. "Go for it, Rena-chan! I'm sure you'll get it right this time."

She gives the teenager an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and the man, an almost apologetic smile while she walks off to the backroom.

Rena doesn't smile, though, as she observes his disappointed gaze follow the swish of Natsumi's skirt as it passes from view.

Then their sights cross and the customer smirks. As is with most predators, he knows how to adjust, to take advantage of opportunity, and Rena can tell he is sizing her up.

The painted nails…dangling jewelry…flashy dress… It's almost as if he _knows_ her. In a single glance, the man brilliantly reads her profile. Young in mind, but not in body…walks wounded…betrayed of trust…lives only to numb the pain…

_Used_. Very used.

Yet, like all things second-hand…recyclable. And he decides then and there…

_She will do._

Rena squares her shoulders, mouth forming a tense line while she measures off the coffee grounds. As her blood begins to rise in step with the mounting heat of the water, she finds irony in serving coffee to the only Honky Tonk customer who does not come specifically for it.

Because the apprentice has only just begun to realize the peculiar charms of the Honky Tonk brew; as if it was less a beverage and more of a magic potion that makes those who drink it feel – different.

She notes that most people seek out Paul's coffee for its calming effect, where each sip is tantamount to the erasure of a painful memory. People like her who have something to forget.

But it's interesting how Paul's protégé Natsumi's potion has more than its fair share of devotees; a younger, less troubled set who come for nothing but the after-school midday tea that marks the start of her shift. If Paul's coffee tranquilizes, Natsumi's stimulates. Hers is sweet and perky as she is; every cup served with an extra helping of her bright smile. Any happier than that and her brew almost becomes – aphrodisiac.

And sometimes, it's her smile, nothing else, that brings customers in -- which, arguably, can be as good as the coffee.

That's why Rena knows this new customer doesn't belong in here. He neither wants the offer of peace nor cheer that's on the menu, just a hard shot of something to quench his lust. And it's only fitting that she be the one to wait on him…

Since no one comes for _her_ coffee.

Bless her kind soul, but Rena thinks Natsumi is being too optimistic. Of course, she has no illusions that she will get the coffee right anytime soon, not when it is infused with the acrid taste of fear and distrust…pain and resentment. No person in their right mind drinks what she has had to swallow in her wretched young life. Like poison.

So she understands why Ban-san hates her coffee so much. Rena realizes he doesn't need more bitterness in his cursed existence. And neither does anyone else who visits the Honky Tonk.

Still, she tries. And tries. For making coffee is her life. That, and new friends, new dreams, and good men she can trust to protect—not hurt—her.

Rena is confident that, someday, her coffee will evoke feelings such as hope and strength in the drinker instead of acrimony.

But now is definitely not that day.

The bubbling from the coffee maker settles and the last drops trickle thickly into the carafe. Steeling herself from the shakes, Rena grips the handle tight as she pours the brew into a cup. Turning to complete the routine formalities of her job, she sets the coffee cup and saucer in front of the lone customer and silently passes the cream and sugar.

The man does not thank her, yet he appreciates the nervous carefulness in the girl's practiced movements. Just like a good, obedient girl should. He smiles.

_A good girl._ Rena steps back, bows her head, and clasps her hands over her lap. The hardest part is having to endure the endless minutes of hot staring at her back, only to be subject to the torment face-to-face as well.

_Just a few more seconds, and it'll all be over_, she keeps telling herself again and again, refusing to remember the last time she held fast to those very same words. But this time, Rena knows she can use those words without resignation.

The middle-aged man in his smart suit and glasses doesn't pause to smell the coffee. His senses are far too pre-occupied with being amused at the child's skittishness, his nostrils already overwhelmed by the heady scent of her discomfort.

He begins to wonder what fast-acting (but always temporary) salves he should use to soothe her. Some choice words of flattery perhaps? A promise of shopping money? Or maybe… the strong sanctuary of a father's touch?

_Yes_. He concludes it is a father she seeks. A role he most certainly can _play_.

Drunk with revelry and a plan he thinks will be set in motion, he casually sips…

Then petrifies.

And time stops just long enough for him to experience what it's like to actually taste – torture.

He chokes…sputters…and spits. Rena peeks from under the black fringe of her bangs and catches his look of utter bewilderment and horror. He freezes in her burning glare as though being passed sentence by the Furies themselves.

Suddenly, the man knocks over his cup and stumbles off the barstool towards the Honky Tonk door. In a clang of chimes he runs off aimlessly into the depraved streets of Ura-Shinjuku; for once, reason winning over his base instincts for power, lust.

And in the short period it took to brew and serve the coffee, it is done.

Rena sucks in a deep breath. She is briefly mesmerized by the sight of the toppled, but unbroken, cup and the dark stain bleeding out over the light wood of the counter. Coming to her senses, the waif-like girl quickly wipes the spill with a rag until the bar is clean. She then gently sets the cup upright in the cradle of its saucer, thankful it is intact.

However, Rena takes no pleasure in what she has done. Can't even say it is a complete payback, not when the man – as is with many men who have come before and will continue to come after – will likely sour grape it off and begin to prowl again for another girl; most probably less…blighted than she.

For what he has is a disease, and Rena is not naïve to think it can be cured by something such as her coffee. All she knows is that she and her _sempai_ are safe, and that's what matters most now.

So she smiles -- just a small one, because Rena does not gloat in the presence of misfortune. But then she recalls the stupid expression on the man's face after taking that fateful sip and she allows her smile to widen a bit more.

The backroom door opens a crack and Natsumi pokes her head through to check up on her friend. She notices the café is empty.

"I heard the chimes," Natsumi says. Her tone is excited and unconcerned. "That was quick."

Rena turns on the faucet and begins to wash the soiled cup. She happily regards the waitress' pretty doll innocence and thinks, for now, at least, the world still looks rose-colored from behind Natsumi's fragile glass case.

"So, did the customer think your coffee was good?" Natsumi eagerly asks.

Rena grins and flashes the "V" sign. She admits her coffee is awful. Maybe it always will be. But, just this once, it was simply…

"Perfect."

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_-end-_

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**_kouhai – _**a Japanese term with no exact equivalent in the English language, _'kouhai'_ or _'kohai'_ is the counterpart of 'sempai' and can roughly be translated as "junior" or "student". Rarely used as an honorific, though. 

**AN2: **For those unfamiliar with the manga, Sendou Rena is one of five children ("Fallen Angels" or "Arcangels" ) the GetBackers, Himiko, HEVN, and Kazuki are tasked to find and retrieve in the Cards Arc (Vol. 14 to 18). Abused by her teacher and distraught over the death of her father, Rena—along with four other troubled runaways, plus Toshiki—fall under the spell of the witch Lucifer and his 'card game from hell' Kami no Kijutsu that gives them other-dimensional powers (Rena's was with dolls) which even GB couldn't defeat using earthly means. After she was released from the curse, Rena started working at the Honky Tonk with Paul and Natsumi. Her cooking and brewing skills leave much to be desired, however -- much to Ban's chagrin. :D


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